


Heartbreak

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [97]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Final Battle, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Parental Discipline, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 97: Ice Cream.   Here we are folks.  The shit hits the fan, the demon steps in, and the end game is here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only.
> 
> Warning: Commencing the re-write of the S2 finale...

The lead in Nevada’s a bust, and the signs of demon activity are everywhere that they’re not. Dean’s starting to feel like they’re chasing their own tails, out burning road and daylight and not getting anywhere, though the Impala’s feeling mighty fine.

The only changes are in the Winchester family itself.

They’re listening to each other, moving as a team, and damn if it doesn’t feel good to each one of them, though their reasons differ. Sam’s content with the feeling of family surrounding him, and he’s spent half his time happily dozing as a result. The Impala doesn’t feel like a cage, as it’s so often done, and the only thing he’s rolled his eyes at is the bad jokes that Dean and John crack at each other.

John appreciates the lack of squabbling between his boys, the quiet compliance that’s coming from both of him, and even more so the fact that it seems effortless. The easy conversations, the debates, the theorizing, he lives on it, and the fact that it’s his boys, and their particular insights is just inordinately pleasing to him, just the same as the six a.m. runs that they’re all rolling out of bed for, and jogging along together sweating and thinking and keeping pace with one another.

And Dean. If Sam’s happy with the sense of family, Dean’s got to be even happier. The years of friction between Sam and Dad seem to have melted away, and the tension between himself and Sam that’s sometimes there, just isn’t, even though they’re in “behaving” mode at night, considerate of their father’s presence in the next bed. The back of his mind is making post-demon plans, because it’s a good world right now.

Even if John has swatted the two of them a couple times. Well, ok, more than a couple, because yeah, close quarters and cranky tired and family friction, that’s normal. It’s not damn normal to be twenty eight years old and over your daddy’s knee getting a hiding, he thinks, but if it’s a trade for keeping John around, yeah, he’s there, and so’s Sam. Dean got spanked for an injudicious reply to one of John’s famous questions, asking him if he wanted a spanking. “Yeah dad, best time of my life,” is really not an answer you should give the man, and Sam got it for swearing a few too many times.

And right now? They’re engaging in one of their favorite activities, baiting their dad. Tag-teaming is probably a better term for it, and Dean has no doubt that lawyer-boy has an even better one up his sleeve, but there it is. For the last twenty minutes, they’ve been waxing poetic about the different kinds of pie they’ve had, in diners across the country. Listing places, flavors, hot waitresses, and Sam’s even cracked a really bad joke about pie-interruptus, mentioning the times that Dad or Dean haven’t let him finish a really good slice so they could get moving again.

Finally, John gives in, pulls into a diner. He does retaliate a little bit though, tells Dean to keep the driver’s seat warm, and shit, that must mean that they’re getting it to go, and John’s gonna make them drive on with the scent of warm pie filling the car and no one able to do a thing about it, because they’re never allowed to eat anything requiring a fork when they’re on the move. Shit. He gives his dad a cocky grin though. 

“Make that a la mode, old man.”

“Ice cream,” John mutters, and plants a swat on Sam’s butt when the boy injudiciously laughs. “Get moving there, Sam. All that leg, you’d think you’d move faster,” he jibes, despite the fact that the last three times they’ve raced, Sam’s beaten both of them.

Dean just slides into the driver’s seat like he was told, and fishes through his cassette collection. Something that will suitably offend dad, without making him too cranky. He finally decides on Def Leppard as a good compromise, something nice and screamy, but he’s caught John humming along to the ballads before, so it’ll be ok. He slides it in, the first song on the mix is nice and loud, and he’ll click it in when he sees them coming. For now, he’s hoping to catch a traffic report, because it can be foul around here, and they might want back roads.

He shrugs as Carlin Music Comes on, rolling his eyes at the fact that it’s “Wrapped Around Your Finger,” glad that Sam’s in the diner. The kid would sing along and make cow eyes at Dean. God. And then the radio crackles, a wind picks up, and all the bells in his head go off, twenty four years of hunting scream at him that something’s wrong, they’ve been in there too long.

He’s armed and out of the car in the flash, and into the diner. The smell of sulfur is heavy in the air, and he’s surrounded by… carnage. There’s no other word for it. He goes through the place like a bull in heat, careful where he puts his feet, not to leave footsteps anywhere, glad that the Impala’s on pavement and not dirt, and when he’s damn sure that there’s no one alive, and sure that… that Sam and Dad are just gone. He looks things over, trying to breathe. First things first, he’s got to get the hell out of here, because if he’s on the FBI most wanted list now? Being seen here isn’t gonna help. He double checks for video, finds the tape melted out of the machine in the back office. There’s sulfur streaked across the back door, and he curses himself, curses the three of them for relaxing their guard, not watching their backs, as he jogs back to the Impala. 

He leans back in the seat, shock vibrating through ever fiber of his body, trying to clear his head, to not let his emotions get the better of him – the radio’s righted itself, and he’d give his eyeteeth to hear what must’ve been EVP on the radio again, listen careful, listen for what was said. He’s got choices here. They’re in…Dammit, he’s not ever gonna let Sam navigate again. Outside of Cheyenne. This he can do. First thing, reinforcements.

He drives like a scared rabbit, darting onto country lane after country lane, too scared to risk the freeways, glancing at the maps for where they’ve got sheriff outposts circled, because this is common stomping ground for them. It’s hours later, in the fucking middle of the night when he screams up Bobby’s familiar driveway and stumbles out towards the man.

Bobby’s got his arms crossed, steeling himself, because there’s only ever one reason that a vehicle comes up his rutted drive at speeds like that, and fuck if it isn’t the Impala, and no one’s called. Shit. Can’t be good. He feels a chill wind up his spine as Dean kills the engine but forgets the lights, and starts to tumble out the door towards him, pale and shocky, and he realizes that there’s no one else in the car.

“Dean,” he says, striding forward, catching the boy before he clears the front bumper, and dammit, he startled the kid. He pushes him up against the frame, reaches into the open window to kill the lights, because if they need to get somewhere, the Impala’s it right now. “Dean. Let’s get inside, boy.”

“Bobby – they’re gone – Dad and Sam – right out of diner, sulfur and everyone dead Bobby, the fucker’s got them, my Dad and my brother,” and the anguish in his voice is enough to break even Bobby’s jaded heart, and Rumsfeld chooses that moment to howl.

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Diana Krall - Narrow Daylight


End file.
